The Beginning
by mak5258
Summary: A glimpse at the beginning of it, that moment where they looked up and realized what they were to each other. Short and sweet.


She hadn't realized how close they'd gotten. They almost never spoke. He was almost always touching her, though—he'd gotten in the habit when she was a cat, settling a hand on her back or petting her ears. Since she'd become his apprentice, he touched the back of her hand or her shoulder or her waist.

When she'd been paying attention over the last week, she'd realized that he actively avoided touching other people. He created uncomfortable social situations, snubbed handshakes.

He also leaned towards her ever so slightly whenever she was in the room. Just put his weight on the foot closer to her; it was subtle, but noticeable. He didn't look at her, even when he was touching her. It was like she was still a cat, a soft comfortable thing, a companion that didn't need fussing over or talking to.

She would've been insulted, except there was more to it than that. The way he stared at anybody who spoke to her or touched her. The way he took care of her, noticing when she'd missed lunch while she was in the library or brought her hot chocolate instead of tea when he knew she'd had a bad day. The way he listened to her when they did talk.

"Sorry, my dear," Minerva had said as she cleared away the tea things. "I just wanted to talk to you about it. Just in case."

"Yes." Hermione had cleared her throat and pasted a smile on her face. "Thank you, Minerva."

She'd watched him—well, not _watched_ him, but she'd paid attention to him—for the rest of the week. And Minerva had been right.

Naturally, she chose to confront him about it near midnight Saturday (almost Sunday). She couldn't sleep, not that she'd been sleeping lately anyway.

He was in his office. He didn't have to teach early, so he'd worked into the night.

His wards let her in. She stood next to him and leaned back on the edge of the desk, waiting for him to finish marking an essay. As Minerva had pointed out, he touched her. It was almost like a greeting, his palm brushing down from hip to thigh and resting just higher than her knee as he finished writing.

While she waited, she put her hand over his, fingers absently stroking his wrist and the back of his hand.

"It's very late," he said, setting his quill aside. His thumb began making gentle circles against her—she was almost sure he wasn't aware he was doing it.

"I couldn't sleep."

"Would you like a potion?"

"No." She sighed. "It's not nightmares."

He raised an eyebrow and she looked down at their hands.

She had no idea what she wanted to say. Well, no. Actually, she knew what she wanted to say but she had no idea how to say it.

He'd saved her life almost four years ago, the summer after her seventh year. She had been captured; she'd expected to die. He'd transfigured her into a cat, claimed she was his new familiar. She'd stayed like that for almost three years, living in his chambers, listening, sleeping at the end of his bed (and later on his chest). When Tom Riddle finally died, she'd testified at Severus's trial. A month later, he'd signed her on as his apprentice.

That month apart had been the hardest of her life. Hard in a different way than the months leading up to her capture. She hadn't been physically in danger, she was just…

"Minerva had me up for tea today," she said, still looking at his hand instead of his face. When she'd been his cat, she used to press her nose just there to encourage him to stroke down her back. It had comforted them both.

"Oh?"

"She was… concerned."

"About what?"

"You touch me all the time." She met his eyes, holding his hand in place when he immediately tried to pull away. "I didn't even notice until she pointed it out."

"I didn't realize—"

"I can't sleep." He stared at her, blinked. She'd interrupted him, then fallen silent; if she were anybody else, there would've been snide remarks, at the very least. He just looked at her. "I haven't gotten a good night's rest since at least a month before your trial."

She looked away.

He tried to take his hand back, but she couldn't let him go. She was sure that he'd never touch her again now that she'd pointed out that he touched her at all.

It had started when she was a cat, settling a hand on her back. After, when she'd returned to his side as his apprentice, he'd continued doing it. Only she wasn't a cat anymore, and Minerva had commented, and…

He stood, and she was sure he was going to walk away and take his hand with him. He'd leave her in his office, and she'd spend the last week of her apprenticeship being ignored.

Instead of walking away or pulling his hand away, his other hand settled against the back of her neck, below her hair. He pulled her to him, and when she released the first hand he put that one low on her back and held her close. He'd held her like this once before, directly after he'd transfigured her back, right before the Aurors arrested him.

"I haven't slept, either," he said, murmuring into her hair.


End file.
